


a permanent chase (and the bite of our bark)

by valiantnerd (arareads)



Series: permanent chase [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Humilliation during sex, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, Luke Hemmings Silky Shirt is basically a character, Luke Hemmings is a Little Shit, Luke is a masochist, M/M, Party, as foreplay, bratty luke, constant abuse of semicolons, dom!ashton, except it's very light, in a sexy way ofc, sub!luke, wish i was kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arareads/pseuds/valiantnerd
Summary: “I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of this, Luke, but I’m not falling for your attention-grabbing bullshit,” Ashton hissed and it was deliciously threatening, Luke half-wondered how much pushing his boundaries could take before threats became actions.He licked his lips, not caring about hiding his growing smile. “You already did, though.”-Luke drags Ashton to a party, puts on a little show and gets what's coming to him.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Series: permanent chase [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123007
Comments: 14
Kudos: 62





	1. fueling the fire until we combust

**Author's Note:**

> hi, hello, hope you're _vibing._  
>  this little thing is an entirely self-indulgent Lashton piece that's all about Luke being an ethereal brat and Ashton finding it hard to cope with that fact.  
> title is from _Valentine_ by 5SOS, as you may have guessed, because Valentine (Live) haunts me and, undoubtedly, will forevermore.  
> heed the tags, therein lie the content warnings!!!!!!  
> feel free to yell at me on the comments or on [Tumblr](https://valiantnerdtm.tumblr.com) because I, like all authors, have a praise kink.  
> all that over with: let's get this show on the road.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke drags Ashton to a party and it all goes downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'tis my latest crime, i hope you enjoy it.  
> the song Luke gets, uh, wild to is [_Literal Legend_ by Ayesha Erotica](https://youtu.be/rIYGd3gr-ck)  
> So, yeah. Let's fucking go. ✨

Ashton wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here.

Stuck –by choice, mind you– in a corner while the house party happened all around him, not quite reaching him or his party-pooper aura. Surrounded on all fronts by tipsy people making more of a ruckus than he could ever care for and a cup of water in his hand, Ashton wasn’t in a celebratory mood. 

He’d spent about half an hour, give or take, standing frozen in the same spot, occasionally sipping his water and trying to veer his thoughts away from wishing it was something stronger –a slippery slope he knew better than he’d ever like to–. Still, in his half-hour of pondering, he hadn't found whatever half-baked excuse he’d given himself to be there at all; his brain only supplied brief snapshots of Luke pleading and pouting so Ashton guessed his reasoning was _Luke pout bad_ or something equally coherent— any fully formed manner of logical reasoning wouldn’t’ve led him _here_.

Standing in a corner by himself like it was a fucking middle school dance. Except even at his school dances, he’d had friends and the occasional date— so he had no prior experience to prepare him for this willful aloneness.

It’s not that Ashton wasn’t good at talking to new people, he often prided himself in his ability for small-talk and objectively charming presence –it was both part of his job as a public figure and in his nature– but he’d had a shit week and was looking forward to some alone time. Then Luke “Pout and Puppy Eyes” Hemmings happened, waltzing into his house without warning and incessantly asking for “company” (a ride to-and-fro, more like), and now he was here: in a shit mood at some random person’s birthday where the very reason he was there had abandoned him about three seconds after stepping through the door.

The music was hammering away at his brain and reverberating all throughout him, a feeling he usually enjoyed but presently was only fueling his frustration. The strobe lights had him on the edge of a headache. The people made him feel suffocated and claustrophobic (hence, the corner).

Ashton took a deep breath, promising to himself that he wouldn’t be a total killjoy, seeing as there was no use crying over spilled milk; he was here now and he would be here for at least four more hours— or until Luke decided he wanted to go somewhere else for the night. Still, Ashton had half a mind to tell himself that one may not cry over spilled milk but mop it up instead and, following the half-assed metaphor logic, he could mop _this_ milk by leaving— and he probably would’ve, hadn’t it been for the obnoxious blond he was babysitting.

The song that had been filling the room ended and the chattering around him felt even louder, crashing into his train of thought. He should be more used to loud noises, he thought, being a musician and all his life revolved around loud noises –the studio sessions, the rehearsing, the fans, the shows, the everything of it all–, but he was just _so_ not in the fucking mood for this.

Another song started up, the bass rattling all around him, an upbeat tune forcing his heartbeat to match it. He took another small sip of his water, _nothing like room temperature water to cheer yourself up_ , he thought cynically, grinding his teeth.

God, the fucking song sounded like what doing cocaine probably felt like. Fast and with a constant staccato that was scratching at his brain. Probably enjoyable if you weren’t feeling like a grumpy old man beforehand.

And then he saw him.

_I came here to make one thing fucking clear._

Luke was standing on a table, because of course he was, with a cup of Lord-knows-what on his hand, singing along to the crude lyrics of the song, surrounded by people in similar states of euphoria cheering him on and chanting the lyrics right back at him, and the worst part was that Ashton couldn’t even find it within himself to be pissed at him.

_I’m a literal legend!_

This suited him. The whole being the center of attention thing. Especially when he wasn’t being paid for it and _especially_ when he looked like this when he did; leather pants reflecting the strobe lights and the silk white shirt absorbing them instead, that and his plethora of rings and necklaces shimmering under the lights were making him into a sea of neon. Ashton’s breath stumbled over itself, catching in a weird spot in his chest.

And _then_ , there was the— _performance_

Luke was running his free hand all over his body, framing his torso and grazing his neck and brushing his hair and he was throwing his head back and he was smiling and laughing and it was making Ashton feel dizzy, trying to follow the curves he was drawing all over himself.

_I can give you sex doll, bitch, you love these legend lips!_

He snuck his index finger between his lips and Ashton, along with the hefty audience he’d amassed, was transfixed, hanging onto his every gesture, he was wearing a smile Ashton could only describe as _catty_ , just wide enough to show the outline of his perfect fucking smile and biting on his shiny lower lip with what Ashton recognized as the last remnants of his coyness. 

_And, baby, I can give you model with these double A cup tits!_

Luke unbuttoned his shirt even further –which was a feat of its own– and shoved it off one of his shoulders, cupping the area in his chest where a breast might be, if he’d had those anyways, pinching his nipple and making a face that had Ashton crumpling his half-full red solo cup in his hand, too entranced to even care about the mess he was making.

_Listen, honey, you’re over!_

And _then_ –and Ashton didn’t know how many _and thens_ he could endure without having a stroke or something– Luke made eye contact. And his smile morphed into a smirk and he licked his bottom lip invitingly and continued moving his hips to the beat and made no attempt to put his fucking shirt back on properly, so Ashton –and the audience, he remarked to himself, because this show wasn’t _for him_ \- was treated to his pale skin coloring pink and blue and purple and it was fucking glittering under the stupid fucking lights and Ashton felt like he’d ran two marathons back to back, with his heart jackrabbiting inside his chest and having lost his breath and the rushing of blood making him feel too warm for comfort.

Blondie really was something else.

His own brand of infuriating and reckless, and an attention whore to boot.

Ashton dreaded what the rest of the night was gonna’ look like if Luke was already pulling this shit.

See, Ashton was more than well aware of Luke’s Centerpiece Complex, he’d fallen prey to it before, he _knew_ that this was Luke’s way of dealing with some weird fucking desire that ate away at him from the inside until he acted out, he’d realized that years ago and since then stopped taking it personally. Stopped thinking of the sustained eye contact and the performative seduction and the smirks as directed _towards_ him, now he just saw them as a side effect of him always being around whenever Luke got needy. 

That was exactly how he’d spent years without going through anything similar to this. Losing his grip over himself like some horny teen looking at boobs for the first time, but he’d been on edge the whole night and Luke was hovering right behind him, whispering into his ear a siren song to just _jump_ and fucking let loose and be more reckless, find a table of his own and be a provocateur for a little while too— that just wasn’t his style, though.

Ashton didn’t suffer from outbursts. His recklessness was always very well channeled singularly onto one poor decision that felt good for about five minutes and then left him feeling empty and stupid; and, if he was honest, he couldn’t tell if it was better or worse than Luke’s pathological pseudo-sluttiness.

The song ended and Luke bowed dramatically, his laughter never receding, and then stepped off the table with the help of some faceless guys.

Ashton forced his stare elsewhere, landing it in the puddle of water right next to him, inching closer and closer to his shoes.

Cherry on fucking top.

He straightened away from the wall and shook his shoulders slightly, trying to work some of the tension out before making his way to the kitchen –or where he thought he remembered the kitchen to be–, swerving around people, silently glad that he didn’t know anyone or else he might’ve had to stop and make small-talk; _Ash, how come you’re here? \ Yeah, no, I came here with my bandmate, uh, Luke Hemmings? \ Table guy? No way! Think you could introduce us?_

The realization that he was only making himself more and more miserable with the hypothetical scenario came a little too late as he ran face-first into Table Guy himself, now –thankfully– wearing his shirt correctly.

Luke all but threw himself into Ashton, stopping only inches in front of him and resting a casual hand on his bicep. _Right,_ Ashton thought to himself, _Luke’s a touchy drunk._

“Ash! I was _just_ coming to get you!” He was breathless and his face was framed prettily by the messy curls that formed a technicolor halo around him, fuck.

Ashton forced his attention away from Luke and his hair and his hand and back towards formulating a response; “I was, uh, getting some more water,” he lifted his crushed solo cup absentmindedly into Luke’s line of sight, who quirked his brows in amusement.

“Should get a new cup too,” his smile was almost mocking and Ashton wished he was more offended, “lemme’ get you to the kitchen,” his hand traveled to the small of Ashton’s back and he congratulated himself for not jumping at the touch.

As it turned out, swerving around people was harder when there was someone else hanging on to your waist and even harder when that person was Luke “Life of the Party” Hemmings. All in all, it took far too long for them to get to the kitchen.

“You doing alright, Ash?” Luke asked, tossing a pack of the red solo cups towards him and perusing the selection of bottles in the island between them, pointing absentmindedly at some of them.

“Sure,” Ashton dug out a new cup and didn’t bother looking at the array of drinks set out before heading to the fridge and grabbing the water pitcher, making quick work of filling his cup and setting everything back into place.

“Huh… Don’t sound alright to me,” Ashton turned around to find Luke only a few steps away from him now, leaning back against the kitchen island, his stupidly long supermodel-like body at a diagonal, his head thrown back slightly, curls falling in front of his face, his shirt was falling off his shoulder again and Ashton’s fingers twitched with the impulse to fix it.

“Sorry if I’m not pumped about being at a party where I don’t know anybody,” he chuckled, trying to mask the obvious annoyance in his voice and failing miserably.

Luke pouted and straightened up and set his cup down on the counter beside him, closing most of the distance between them in a single step, stopping only inches in front of Ashton and resting his hands on his shoulders, rubbing at them softly, Ashton stiffened under the touch.

“You know _me,_ Ash!” Luke’s hands were quickly going off course, inching closer to his neck, Ashton shuddered almost unperceptively, he blamed it on the cold metal of the rings brushing against his skin.

“Yeah, and you’re too busy being the life of the party,” It sounded whiny, not that he’d ever admit to it.

Luke gasped theatrically, “Are you jealous?” Ashton frowned.

“Of what?”

“I dunno… That I left you all to your lonesome and went ahead and—” he could barely speak through his smile, “—put on a show and all that”.

“That— _no._ You’re a grown man and I’m a grown man,” Luke was barely concealing his amusement by busying himself with the collar of Ashton’s shirt, “you can dance on top of tables and get half-naked while I’m in a corner. What’s there to be jealous of?” The sarcasm was heavy in his voice but Luke ignored it steadfastly in favor of whatever drunk thoughts he might’ve been having.

Luke hummed, “Nobody should put Baby in the corner,” he giggled, “Not even Baby himself”.

Ashton scoffed and pushed Luke’s hands off himself, “Fuck off, Hemmings”.

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be a killjoy, _Irwin,”_ his pout was back and his hands were too, now caressing his cheekbones.

Honestly, fuck Luke Hemmings.

Ashton was hot and bothered and this time there was no denying it was entirely Luke’s fault for being absolutely infuriating, on purpose no less. He rolled his eyes and shifted his weight on his feet, simultaneously trying to escape and sink into the gentle heat of Luke’s hands.

Luke’s pretty blue eyes had settled their gaze on Ashton’s lips and he knew he was irrevocably fucked.

If he’d felt insane before, he was feeling the full force of madness sweeping through him right then, with Luke so close to him he could see the specks of body glitter settled high on his cheekbones and eyelids, giving him an unearthly aura that had Ashton absolutely enraptured.

Luke smiled and the sight of his teeth was nothing short of predatory, sounding all alarms within Ashton to get the hell out of whatever trap this was without looking back. But, damn him, Luke Hemmings looked like the sweetest poison known to man and Ashton’s mouth was watering just by thinking about the high he’d get from that intoxication.

He was _fucked_.

And then, Luke spoke. The hum of his voice resonating within Ashton’s own chest, beating the incessant chatter outside and the bass of whatever song was playing beyond the door to the chase of overloading his senses once again.

“Ash,” he whispered his name into the minimal space between their faces, like a plea.

Ashton barely hummed a response back, his brain too busy storing away the memory of Luke _that_ close to him to string together a coherent response. Luke seemed to revel in this, smile growing wider, making Ashton wonder exactly what kind of superhuman creature he resembled then, all charm concealing his lethal nature.

“Siren,” Ashton mumbled under his breath without meaning to.

“What’s that?” Luke, though taken aback, hadn’t stepped away.

Tipsy and buzzing from Luke’s closeness, Ashton’s rationale was slowly shutting down, submitting towards the more animalistic part of himself that was clawing in the pit of his stomach, begging him to _do something, anything_. So, he replied truthfully.

“You’re like a siren”

Luke took a breath to process this, melting into a giggling mess.

“Like- Like Ariel?”

Ashton’s brow furrowed. “That’s a mermaid,” he replied matter-of-factly, “I said _siren_ ”. Luke stared back, still dumbfounded.

“You’ll have to spell this one out for me, Ash,” his long fingers started drawing mindless figures on Ashton’s nape, leaving a sparkle of electricity and fire in its trail that had Ashton weak at the knees and wherever self-control is stored in the human body.

He groaned, feeling his logic slipping further away from him with every brush of Luke’s hand against his skin, every breath that tainted the oxygen between them with the stench of alcohol, every glimmer of his skin, every giggle that slipped between his fucking pink glossy lips.

“C’mon, teach. I’m ready for my lesson,” Luke’s voice dropped at the end of his statement, suggestively, making Ashton’s blood boil.

Honestly, _fuck_ Luke Hemmings.

If Ashton had learned anything in his life it’s that fevers are always the symptom of something nasty and dangerous. So, if Luke –in his stupid silk shirt that was apparently too big for him because it kept sneaking down his frame and his leather pants that hugged his legs in ways Ashton cold only ever dream of and his stupid fucking body glitter and his make-up and teasing tone– had him burning up, that could only mean _he_ was something nasty and dangerous.

And while Ashton could very well picture the nasty part, the dangerous aspect didn’t come to him as easily.

“You need a lesson, alright. Fucking brat,” For the second time that night, Ashton swatted Luke’s hands away and Luke cackled loudly, a disbelieving grin settling where his self-assured smile formerly was. 

“ _Brat?_ ” He grabbed his drink back from the sea of bottles and sipped it half-heartedly, shaking his head all the while, “That’s really fucking rich coming from you,” he reclined against the counter, running a hand through his hair.

“What?” Ashton’s brain was kicking back into gear, fueled by sheer ire.

“Yeah. Mr. Standing-at-a-corner-cause-I’m-pouty,” he was laughing at his own joke when Ashton grabbed him by the collar of his shirt roughly.

His deer-in-the-headlights look was supreme. Way better than the cocky bullshit he’d been pulling before. All wide glossy eyes and high brows and parted lips.

Ashton smirked without meaning to, overtaken by the feeling of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't mind an upper body work out cause you'll have to hang onto that cliff for a hot second (/j)  
> Let me know if this is your vibe at all, here or on [Tumblr](https://valiantnerdtm.tumblr.com).  
> Bonus points if you tell me which "Luke [BLANK] Hemmings" was your favorite. Mine's "Table Guy"!!!  
> Stay safe and stay sexy, babes. ♥


	2. it don't matter, be combative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night's events from Luke's perspective as years of teasing come to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my fucking god.  
> here it is, folks. eight days of drafting and redrafting and panicking have landed us all here: with 4k words of something you may call smut.  
> i'd like to thank all my friends who agreed to not only read my gay fanfiction but also tell me if it turned them on + a special thanks to [Jess](https://daydadahlias.tumblr.com) for basically beta reading, you're great, kiddo.  
>  _drinking game!_ take a shot for every time Ashton uses a petname.

This, Ashton grabbing him by the collar and staring him down with _fire_ in his eyes, was an image Luke had often conjured before, though not one he thought he’d ever have the pleasure of actually witnessing.

Granted, every other thing he did was aimed toward Ashton and getting his attention or getting on his nerves— still, _this_ result was unprecedented; the kind he’d always craved after and had remained, until then, an unattainable fantasy.

He’d begged him to come to the stupid party partly because of that. He was brimming with unresolved potential after weeks of being around him in strictly work environments (because even he knew better than to jeopardize his career in favor of doing something about his years-long hard-on for Ashton Irwin– even if he had to forcefully remind himself of his priorities every so often).

Meeting every day and spending hours upon hours in the same room while he was contractually unable to catch his eye was a very specific sort of nightmare come true for Luke. 

So, the invite and confirmation for a plus-one allowed the plan to hatch itself without much effort.

He drove over to Ashton’s house and walked in like he owned the place –because he knew it’d piss Ashton off– and pleaded with him to _pretty please with a cherry on top_ come with him to the party, surprised and standing a little prouder when it only took three bats of his eyelashes to get a reluctant _yes_ out of him.

He didn’t stick around for much longer after that before heading back to his own place, less focused on driving than on raking his brain in a true exercise of memory, cross-referencing the pieces of his wardrobe that had received the biggest responses from Ashton.

That’s how Ashton found him, less than an hour later, clad on a silky white shirt that was purposefully a little too big and buttoned only enough for it to be acceptable –if only in a very 70s-rockstar way–; his nicest pair of leather pants and enough jewelry to be accused of robbing every girl he’d ever dated. He had to hide his smug look when Ashton cleared his throat as soon as he entered his car, pointedly _not_ looking at him.

The next stage of his plan relied heavily on Drunk Luke, the more fun, more reckless, most-likely-to-annoy-Ashton version of himself and since Sober Luke had to make himself scarce for that, he’d bolted to the kitchen as soon as he stepped in the house, downing four shots of tequila in quick succession to jumpstart the night, then making himself a mixed drink to sip on while he mingled.

Thing is, alcohol makes things funny. Your body feels blurry around the edges and the people you’re talking to don’t seem fully real at times and your thoughts aren’t a stream of consciousness so much as a rain— thoughts falling scattered all around at different paces and never quite unifying into anything too sensical. Time, too, starts to bend and go missing if you weren’t looking directly at a clock; so, he hadn’t noticed he’d spent half an hour mingling and not actually carrying out his plan until someone asked about the band and he’d cheerily answered _We’re doing great! Yeah, Ashton, our drummer, he’s here tonight too!_ Which then prompted an _Oh, where? I haven’t seen him_ that thankfully opened the door for him to go look for Ashton without coming off as a lost puppy.

On the way, however, it had overcome him again.

The all-consuming _need_ of being looked at.

That’s how he landed himself on top of a table, putting on a show without much premeditation and praying that Ashton would be watching him.

He didn’t have much of a guess where it came from, the insatiable neediness— tried to not think about it too much, about the void that opened up within him from breastbone to hip and had him aching and antsy, about the total tunnel vision that made him focus solely on people— a possible audience.

Ashton had called it “being an attention whore” more than once, but it was _more_ than that.

It was a blinding longing for admiration. For having people give him all of their focus, no matter if it was just for a second. He got high off that shit. Off of having people chant his name and sing his songs back at him and encourage his antics; still, he’d yet to find a high as strong as the reproachful look Ashton would give him when all was said and done, the very knowledge that he’d caught Ashton’s attention was almost enough to satiate him— It wasn’t idyllic but it was _something_.

So, when he saw him secluded away on a corner, the wave of primal need that made its way through his body left no room to argue, this would be one of his best performances yet.

He let himself sink into the inherent otherness of performing— the feeling of not being oneself. Instead, Luke turned himself into a pretty show, all long legs and shiny skin and messy hair. Where Sober Luke was insecure, Drunk Luke walked on top of the world and knew with unwavering certainty that there was no one hotter than him— and by the tension in Ashton’s body, he was right.

See, Luke may not be too perceptive sometimes, it’s a lot of work paying attention to every little detail going on around you, especially with a life as hectic as his, but he’d spent more than enough time around Ashton to have a deep-rooted understanding of him. Every shift in his body, every inflection of his voice— Luke could read him like an open book without even trying; and right then, with frustration written so clearly on his face Luke could see it even over the small sea of people, and the body language of a brick –all closed into himself and tenser than a bow about to shoot– Luke _knew_ he was pissed off.

It was far from his goal, but he’d made peace with the fact that it’d be the best he’d get out of him. If he couldn’t get Ashton to join his audience and cheer for him, he’d savor the disdainful tint of his name falling from Ashton’s lips once they were alone, the exasperation etched into his features when he caught his eye in the midst of his stunt; because at least he was _looking_ at him.

Luke, in reality, was trying to rile him up in an entirely different manner, but Ashton was _such_ a fucking stick in the mud sometimes.

His role of the “level-headed one” made it almost impossible for him to find amusement in Luke’s sporadic mischief— which _royally_ sucked. He was _so_ hot and Luke had no doubt that his hands could do wonders on his body and the sheer aggression he demonstrated on the drums was a promise of everything Luke wanted and then some. 

Still, he settled. 

He riled Ashton up until he lashed out and then stored away the memory of his frustration— pathetically enough, that wasn’t even his worst masochistic habit. No, that spot went to the jerking off sessions he had later using those very same memories and any vague shapes his brain could gather – outlines of Ashton standing stiffly in front of him and the low timbre of his voice as he went on some tirade or other about how Luke was being a little shit— to bring himself over the edge while moaning and panting around Ashton’s name. He always felt icky afterwards but he convinced himself that the fantasies were better than just being consumed by his incessant _want_.

Luke wasn’t the king of good decisions or exemplary friendships.

He could be, however, the king of teasing.

He dedicated a winning smile at Ashton and continued with his peacocking, showing off all of his good angles and shapes towards the corner, unraveling all of himself to the beat of the song in a taunting offer.

The song ended and his well-honed frontman instinct made him bow and laugh and smile graciously, accepting the help from some guys he would not recognize come daylight in stepping off the makeshift stage. Back on the ground, receiving claps and pats on the back from unknown hands, he tidied himself and, with unabashed eagerness burning through him, went off to find his tormentor (and tormented, if he was playing his cards right).

When they stumbled upon each other only minutes later Luke noticed the crumpled solo cup, the way Ashton was avoiding his eyes (but didn’t skip over his body), the tension of his body wherever he touched; all signs of a job well done that immediately inflated his ego.

That’s why, at that moment, with his shirt crumpling under Ashton’s fists and anger searing all over him –in the red of his face, the crease between his brows, the slight narrow of his eyes, the threat of a smirk, the heat of his hands seeping through the fabric of his shirt– Luke was fucking rejoicing.

The feeling of _finally_ being the prey was making him shake with the adrenaline spike, the mix of fear and unrestrained desire was the perfect cocktail for his little masochistic heart— this was a sure threat of pleasure, no matter where the night went after this.

He was observing him intently, taking in the details of Ashton that were apparent only in this closeness (he pushed away the thought that this might be a singular opportunity), stashing them away, mapping out the perfect expression of unbridled frustration and the physicality that accompanied it, creating a carbon copy he would undoubtedly bring out to play with later.

The silence between them was asphyxiating, but Luke had no intention of breaking it, too absorbed in his mental exercise and enjoying the mild claustrophobia; he was almost disappointed when Ashton spoke.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of this, Luke, but I’m not falling for your attention-grabbing bullshit,” Ashton hissed and it was _deliciously_ threatening, Luke half-wondered how much pushing his boundaries could take before threats became actions.

He licked his lips, not caring about hiding his growing smile. “You already did, though,” he replied, doubling down on the cockiness.

Ashton’s grip on his shirt faltered and for a second he looked dumbfounded, he recovered quickly though, and fisted the fabric more sternly, “Fuck you”.

Luke set aside any thoughts regarding the growing tension, not willing to be sidetracked, snorted and sipped his drink, enjoying the way Ashton’s eyes settled on his lips, “Why don’t you fuck me yourself?”

Ashton let go of him and jumped back, arms flailing around like he didn’t know where to put before rubbing his face, looking all parts exasperated, “What the fuck, Luke?”

Luke bit down on his lip, steadying himself in the vague pain, searching all within him for the same bravery (or stupidity) that made him open his mouth in the first place.

“I mean, if you want me to get fucked so badly then do it yourself,” he was looking closely at his drink as we swirled it around lazily.

“What the _fuck_ , Luke?”

Luke ran a hand through his hair out of habit and exasperation, the knowledge that if the conversation went on for much longer he’d lose his nerve and say _sike!_ was creeping up his neck, effectively pushing him forward.

“Are you gonna’ be in shock all night or are we doing this?” Years of learning proper breath support came in handy as he made a conscious effort to keep his voice leveled.

“I don’t—,” Ashton said and Luke’s stomach dropped.

Not only had he opened his big mouth, now that he _had_ Ashton knew that he was into him and of fucking course he didn’t like _him_ like that so they wouldn’t even be friends anymore— He was trying to come up with a convincing-enough lie when Ashton spoke again.

“You want me to fuck you?”

The (sensible) idea of lying flew out the window as Drunk Luke with the Absent Impulse Control returned with full force.

“Yeah?” this time he failed at keeping his tone casual, his insecurity rounding it into a question, “would you? Fuck me, I mean,” the silence stretched for a second too long and he couldn’t catch himself in time before he filled it, anxiously and with his voice quiet, “cause I’d _really_ like you to,” he straightened away from the counter and got into Ashton’s space once again, just standing in front of him, making himself accessible for the take.

Ashton swallowed thickly before standing a little taller and meeting his eyes, his face orchestrated in an expression not even Luke could decipher.

“Yeah?”

“Badly,” he whispered, unsure of where this was going.

Ashton threw his head back for a second, fists tightening at his sides before roughly grabbing him by the waist. The sudden contact was electrifying and the hand that cupped his jaw and directed his face to stare at Ashton immediately after had him dizzy with desire.

“Wanna’ tell me how bad you want me to fuck you, Lukey?” Luke honest to God whined; the humiliation was exquisite and debilitating— he might’ve fallen to his knees hadn’t it been for Ashton holding him up. Hell, he might’ve fallen to his knees, in someone else’s kitchen while a party happened right outside if Ashton simply told him to.

Still, he wasn’t weak enough to _not_ continue being a brat.

“Actually, I’m good,” he scrunched his nose in lieu of a smile, seeing as his cheeks were still smushed by Ashton’s hand.

The grip on his jaw shifted and Luke didn’t even miss it before it landed right at his throat. It had the possibility of getting overwhelming — the heat of Ashton’s hand, the slight puncture of his fingernails, the pressure on the sides of his neck, the harsh grip replicated far more intensely on his waist, the fact that Ashton did _not_ hesitate to choke him — but, Ashton’s eyes, that looked golden even in the shitty lighting of the foreign kitchen, had him grounded.

“For a slut, you’re not making this easy on me, Luke,” the tightness around his throat lessened, “That what you do? Put up a fight for fun?” Luke nodded eagerly and Ashton hummed lowly, “Well, I won’t fight you, blondie, so either you cooperate or you go on and find someone else,” his hand was now caressing his collarbone softly, contrasting with his stern tone.

His own hand flew up to grab Ashton’s wrist and directed it towards his neck again, too dazed to even think about how desperate the gesture was, too entranced by the appraising look Ashton was giving him.

“I can be good,” he promised.

—

Luke didn’t have much recollection of how they got to Ashton’s house. Be it the alcohol or the constant stream of _AshtonAshtonAshtonAshton_ that was clouding his mind, it didn’t matter much anyway.

He vaguely remembers saying goodbye to the party host, wishing a quick _happy birthday!_ as he stumbled over his own feet rushing to the door. Remembers getting in Ashton’s car a little more clearly, mostly the way his hand alternated between the gear-shift and his thigh, getting higher every time but never doing more than just resting on him. Remembers basically nothing of getting to Ashton’s room, neither of them bothered with the lights and whatever sight he could’ve had was obscured by various articles of clothing flying left and right.

The _how_ wasn’t too relevant, more-so the _where_ he landed: grinding himself down on Ashton’s lap, completely overtaken by tunnel vision– all he could see and feel was Ashton. Expert hips rolling against his own, strong hands mapping out his body, warm lips all over his chest and collarbone, broad shoulders under his hands as he clung to them, his sweet and citric scent all around him, the landscape of muscle and the valleys of ink on his skin under the thin moonlight that sneaked through the curtains.

It was otherworldly.

 _Ashton_ was otherworldly.

“You done this before?” Luke asked, trying to speed through the pleasantries, knowing with unearned certainty that Ashton, even with his dick rock hard and pulsating under his own hips, wouldn’t let him skip the negotiation.

“Fuck guys? Yeah,” Ashton said mindlessly between kisses delivered at Luke’s shoulder.

“No, I mean— Wait, really? We’ll revisit that. I— I meant _kink_ ”.

Ashton hummed an affirmative that remained trapped in the curve of his neck.

“ _Really_? What the fuck–".

Ashton dropped his head on Luke’s shoulder, exasperated, “Let’s talk boundaries, not body count”.

“Someone’s eager,” Luke mocked and Ashton retaliated by thrusting upwards, effectively shutting him up as he bit down on his own lip to quiet his moan.

“You should know you’re getting nothin’ until we hash this out, pretty boy. Is that clear?” Ashton whispered into his ear, hands holding his hips in place away from his own. He slurred a quick _yessir_ in response.

“Good,” he punctuated his statement with a soft kiss right below his ear, “D’you prefer colors or a safeword?”

“Colors are good,” Luke might’ve felt ashamed of the breathiness of his voice if Ashton didn’t feel so safe. 

“And what do you like, princess?” His hands began to roam, tracing nonsense shapes all over his skin, unsteadying Luke’s breath.

“Hm… Pain,” he started toying around with the hair at Ashton’s nape, twirling strands of it innocently.

“You want me to hurt you?” His nails dug slightly into his skin and had him arching his back, letting the jolt of pleasure course through him. He had to catch his breath before responding with a soft _yeah_ that did nothing to conceal the whine it accompanied.

“How d’you want me to hurt you, baby?”

“ _Fuck_ — I,” a deep breath, “I like all kinds of pain”.

“Be more specific for me, darling,” he guided his hips towards his own again, kneading his ass in a command – _move_ –, not making it any easier for him to come up with a response.

“I— _God—_ Like, spanking and biting and scratching and getting my hair pulled,” his cheeks were heating up more and more by the minute and he knew it was ridiculous, with Ashton mouthing at his skin and their dicks touching through two layers of fabric, shyness felt out of place.

“So you like it rough, huh?” Luke nodded, “I can do that for you, bunny”.

Luke sighed, this was too good to be true, “Promise?”

Ashton separated himself slightly from Luke’s torso, one of his hands settling at his nape, claiming all of Luke’s attention as he met his eyes and flashed a handsome smile that had Luke melting even further into his hold.

“Anything for you, princess,” he murmured and _fuck_ was it disarming.

Luke’s hands settled at Ashton’s cheeks, returning his own smile and leaning in.

Whatever he’d felt before was nothing compared to the absolute out of body experience that was kissing Ashton Irwin; lips gliding against his own with debauched synchrony, hot and insistent and nothing short of filthy, eliciting helpless little noises from him— Luke could feel him smile at times, cockiness radiating from him, and _God_ it was hot–, he was so immersed in it all he barely noticed he was being pushed back into the mattress.

Hovering above him, Ashton had him absolutely wrecked with nothing but the constant friction between them, nipping away at his neck, raking his nails all over the sides of Luke’s thighs and up and down his stomach, feeding his desperation until he was shifting under Ashton’s body– he didn't let it go unnoticed, pinning his hips down roughly, the tightness of his grip an unspoken reprimand.

“ _Please,_ please, please, please,” he whines, hands fisting the sheets at his sides.

“Use your words, bunny. What do you want?” The heat of his breath feels searing where it meets his skin, stark contrast with the wet kisses he’s been leaving all over his chest.

“Want you, Ash. Want you so bad, _please,_ ” he reaches up, running his hands over whatever part of Ashton he can reach.

“I’m right here, baby,” he chuckles, the fucking dickhead, and sneaks a hand between them, gripping around the base of Luke’s dick, caressing some of the length lightly with the pad of his thumb, eliciting a string of hissed cuss words. “What is it you want then, pretty boy?” He kisses him sweetly.

“Fuck me. Please, Ash, I need it, _please_ ,” his fingers digging into Ashton's biceps.

Ashton grins, unbothered by the handsome thing writhing under him, “Hm, I knew you’d beg pretty”.

—

Ashton was the devil. There was no other explanation.

He’d been teasing him for an eternity, long and thick fingers scissoring in and out of him, soft kisses peppered at his hips and inner thighs, his free hand caressing his tummy and waist, and, worst of all, he was _staring_. Predatory eyes traveled all over his body, snapping up to meet his when he made a sound Ashton seemed to particularly like, it was too much. The touching was fine, _amazing_ even– more than anything though it was fucking annoying.

He’d given Ashton the go-ahead ages ago and all he’d said was _Oh, no, princess. This is for me to enjoy_ , but the staring was awful. It highlighted his nakedness and he knew he probably looked pathetic– undoubtedly red at the face and neck and chest, glossy with sweat, eyes glinting with tears, bottom lip tortured the color of raspberries and panting needily, no longer capable of articulating full sentences, just mumbling Ashton’s name under his breath.

 _Finally_ , Ashton retrieved his fingers from inside him, making him moan at the loss, and caressed at the sides of his waist, praise falling endlessly from his lips, _you did so good for me, baby, look so pretty like this, angel, you took it so well–_ it almost made it all worth it.

He was panting from being worked so close to the edge and still no closer to feeling satisfied, he _needed_ more. Ashton looked pleased when he said as much.

“Want you to know,” Ashton said, smirk wide on his face, as he shuffled around the bedside table, “that was payback, princess,” he kissed the tip of his nose.

Luke puts on his most devastating pout and reaches for Ashton’s waist, already missing his touch, as he does quick work of sliding on a condom, “what’d I do?”

Ashton retakes his position between Luke’s legs and gives him a disbelieving look, “You mean you don’t remember?”, he doesn’t allow for a response as he aligns himself with Luke’s entrance, making him gasp helplessly at the novel pressure, “Huh, baby? You don't remember years of teasing me?”, he continues his taunts as he’s filing him up leisurely, voice never wavering, “Don’t remember getting on that table tonight?” he gives one good, deep thrust that steals a choked scream out of Luke, the stretch is _amazing_ and the knowledge that Ashton had been watching all this time fuels the forest fire of arousal inside him.

He gives Luke a second to get used to it but doesn’t relent otherwise.

“This what you wanted, princess? Needed to get fucked so badly you put on a show for it?” He’s caressing Luke’s face softly with one hand but the other is holding his thigh with a vice grip as he maneuvers it higher, giving himself a deeper angle, “Hope you know this isn’t a reward, pretty boy,” Luke wants to complain but can’t find the words, his mind swimming in the sensations.

Ashton starts grinding his hips, the drag of his cock inside him is worse than the fingering, it fills him up _so_ much better but Ashton is _still_ not giving him what he wants, his eyes overflow with tears of frustration as he tries to ask for more but can only manage broken whines.

“You thought pissing me off was a good idea, bunny? Thought I’d fuck you hard and fast?” he delivers a slap at his hip that makes him yelp, “Answer, slut,” the hand that’d been caressing his face now holds his cheeks sternly.

Luke meets his gaze with lidded eyes, sinking further into the torturous pleasure every second.

“I– I didn’t mean to–“ a slap at his thigh.

“Don’t lie to me, you fucking tease,” he delivers another sharp thrust that has Luke seeing stars before resuming his soft rhythm, all Luke can do is moan in tandem, “Thought I'd let you get away with your bullshit?” Luke tries shaking his head but Ashton's grip doesn't allow it, “You were wrong, princess. You’re mine to fuck how _I_ want, got that?”

Luke nods eagerly and the hold on his face turns soft again, Ashton drags his thumb over Luke’s cherry red lips, he smiles and makes a show of swirling his tongue around it messily. Ashton’s hold on his thigh tightens as he groans.

“God, such a pretty little slut,” Luke’s smile widens as kisses the pad of his thumb, mewling a quiet _thank you_ that forces Ashton to take a shuddering breath.

“What's your color, baby?” Luke moans his way through a _green_.

Ashton doesn’t respond, instead, his hips start bucking, a shallow and quick pace that has the bed under them trembling and he's matching every thrust eagerly but it’s still _not_ enough. He’s being filled wonderfully and the tempo Ashton sets is precise, but he’d also spent hours basically edging him so now he felt like he was coated in gasoline and remained waiting for the final spark that would let him burn freely.

“Ash, more, _please_ , I need more,” his hands find their way to Ashton’s shoulders.

“Not yet, princess. I like seeing you like this,” Ashton's hands take a hold of his hips, fingers sinking into supple skin, “So desperate even when I'm already filling you up, insatiable little whore,” Ashton gives a hard thrust right at his prostate that has him arching his back away from the mattress.

“ _Fuck!_ Ash, please,” Luke yells, eyes screwed tight in pleasure.

“Look at me,” he commands and Luke has no choice but to obey. He opens his eyes and takes in the image of Ashton towering him, all broad shoulders and muscles flexing with every swing of his hips, he looks like Luke always dreamed he would and he’s looking right back. Ashton grabs both of his wrists and pins them above his head on the mattress and Luke feels _open_ — getting fucked and put on display like this. “You're so pretty, bunny, look so pretty under me,” he leans in and kisses him languidly, biting on Luke's lower lip and making him moan, “ _God–_ you make the prettiest sounds, too. Beg for me again, baby”.

Luke is coming undone under Ashton's praise and his unrelenting rhythm, struggling to find words in his haze, “More, Ash, please, I need more– need it harder, _fuck_ , please”.

One of Ashton’s hands travels to Luke’s nape and pulls at a handful of hair, the pain has him whining loudly and letting out another breathy string of _pleasepleasepleaseplease_. Ashton listens this time.

Ashton starts bucking into him hard and fast and deep and the hand that’d been pulling his hair scratches down his chest before wrapping around Luke’s dick – flushed a furious pink and leaking freely onto his own stomach – and pumps at it loosely. The sudden onslaught of pleasure has him screaming, “ _Fuck_! That’s it, don't stop, please don't stop, Ash, you’re fucking me so good, _oh my God!”_.

Ashton lets go of his hands, taking a hold of his hips with a vengeance and commanding his movements, maneuvering like he's weightless, he’s hitting his sweet spot every single time and Luke doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s biting down on his own lip, one hand fisting the sheets and the other sinking its nails on his own stomach.

“Ash, please,” he cries out, burning up from all the pleasure.

“What is it, angel?” His voice is low and breathless and it sends shivers all through Luke’s body.

” _Please_ hurt me, please, please, please,” he barely finishes talking when Ashton’s pulling at his hair again and raking red lines all over his thighs and torso, it feels like fire all over his skin. His breath catches at his throat, arousal uncoiling in his stomach so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to warn Ashton before he comes all over both of them, he’s absolutely overtaken by the force of it; all he can do is surrender to the ecstasy and make choked little noises that match Ashton’s increasingly erratic pounding as he fucks Luke through his orgasm, chasing his own down. Finally, he mutters a string of curse words under his breath and falls over Luke, completely spent, panting and moaning for a moment.

Ashton’s weight on top of him, the scorching heat of skin against skin, the drumming of his rapid heartbeat against his own chest, Luke thinks, are all better than the mind-bending orgasm he just had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, boy.  
> yell at me about all this sexy nonsense right here or on [Tumblr](https://valiantnerdtm.tumblr.com) because I do in fact have a praise kink.  
> stay safe, stay sexy, and stay vibing, babes ♥✨.


End file.
